


I give good victim, but...thanks

by gwmclintock88



Series: Across the Whedonverse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmarks, Whedonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwmclintock88/pseuds/gwmclintock88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve never expected to hear the words while on a mission. In a sewer. While rescuing a girl who probably could in all rights knock him out if she were healthy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I give good victim, but...thanks

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Soulmate Shorts AKA The Crackship Armada](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658407) by [ozhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk). 



> This is the first in a semi-unconnected series of shorts about stories in the Whedonverse, typically involving soulmates, soulmarks, whathaveyou. When I say Whedonverse, I mean anything written by him, including Buffy/Angel, Astonishing X-men, the Avengers, Agents of Shield, and even Toy Story (though unlikely on the last one). Glee may pop up once or twice if I feel like it. 
> 
> It gives me a chance to explore different characters and different settings without being forced to commit to a longer story. I may come back to some of these and that will be noted in the shorts, but unless I say otherwise they are all unrelated.
> 
> If you have any pairing you would like to read, please let me know. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

_Steve_

            Steve resolved to stop being surprised. He either lost money or was disappointed or out of his depth, sometimes all three at once. After New York and the Chitauri, whatever happened next, he decided to just go with it. Of course, this ended up with him working his way through the sewers in London as a favor to Natasha (who now had a favor from Doctor Strange, whoever that was).

Supposedly, there was someone or some _thing_ down here, kidnapping children. The last person to go searching for them hadn’t checked in three days, which seemed to be a red flag for her boss, hence asking Steve for help (which really was pretty far down the pole). Strange directed him to the sewers and told him to be prepared for anything. This probably meant needing his suit, but there were some things he drew the line at for favors (and Natasha definitely owed him a new pair of socks).

            As Steve worked his way through the tunnels, he heard shuffling and skittering of something around him. Sometimes it was far, sometimes it was close. He told himself it was just rats, and nothing to worry about, but in the dark, damp tunnels, his instinct told him to keep moving, to not stop, to never stop. Something was out there, and while he searched, he was felt hunted as well.

            Under the skittering and shuffling of something(s) and the hissing the air, he picked up something else: moaning. It was the first noise he heard he could identify. He followed the sound to its source, slowly walking and straining to hear it past the noises left around him. The moaning was irregular, and twice he stopped to find it once more. As he moved closer, ragged breathing interspaced the moaning. Turning a corner, Steve caught sight of the source he left behind in the forties.

            A young woman hung from the ceiling, chains holding her up off the damp floor. Nothing hid the wounds and bruises peppering her body and a wet sheen of what he thought was blood matted her hair to her face. Her breathing staggered and almost stilled once as he entered, but she was alive.

            Steve rushed to her side, taking care to not touch her anywhere wounded or inappropriate, but given the situation, he had little choice. “You’re safe,” he whispered. As he spoke, her non-swollen eye shot open, glaring at him. She struggled and thrashed, trying to get away from him. One or two kicks managed to hit, and had he not braced himself, she probably would have knocked him over.

            “It’s okay,” Steve said, reaching up to cup her face with his hand. She began to still, and finally stop to collapse into him. “You’re safe.”

            She didn’t move or anything, except stare at him and breathe. She relaxed into him, letting him take some of the weight off her damaged shoulders. Breaking eye contact, he stared up at the chains for a moment and he barely caught the words slipping from her lips.

            “I give good victim, but…thanks.” Her voice was hoarse, her words mumbled and slurred, but still, he heard them as sure as he had them etched into his skin.

            There would be time to talk about that later. He held her close her close with right arm and reached up with his left to tear down chains. The wall crumbled under his strength, and she fell complete into his arms. She draped her still bound arms over his neck, letting him hold her even closer.

            “Not going to drop me, are you?” She breathed into his neck.

            “Never going to let you down,” he muttered back. He took a step back from the wall, easily carrying her weight. She lifted her head off his shoulder, even more surprised than when he first spoke.

            “Please don’t tell me I just got Rick-rolled?” She asked.

            “What’s rick -”

            “Behind you!”

            He acted on instinct, reaching back to grab his shield even as she struggled to get out of his arms. One of her knees slammed into his side, and even over the blood rushing through him, he heard the crack of a rib. It didn’t stop him from taking the shield and slinging toward whatever was creeping up toward them. As he completed his turn, the crack of the wall echoed through the now quiet sewers.

            “Holy shit,” the girl in his arms said. Steve tried to breathe evenly. Despite super-healing, a cracked rib still hurt like hell – especially if it wasn’t set right.

            “What the hell is that?”  His shield was embedded in the wall, covered in some dull green goo (for lack of a better term). The body of…something lay at the entrance while the head had rolled forward to his feet. Horns and dark green scales covered the something.

            “It’s a demon,” the girl said. “Not sure which type, but definitely the one napping kids off the street.”

            “How do you know?” He asked. She motioned with her head toward the corner of the room. He fumbled to swing the flashlight’s beam over to it.

            A large pile of small bones littered the corner. He felt his stomach knot and his breath leave him. “Can’t believe you took its head off that easily.” She leaned back, letting him hold her steady.

            “We’ll get someone to collect the bones to identify them,” he said, mostly to himself. “And maybe this…thing. For now, let’s get you topside and to a doctor.”

            “Five by five,” she said. She rested against him for a moment before asking, “My ass covered at least?” He nearly stumbled at the question, but moved his hand to comply. It was the last she said to him as her breathing even out and she fell asleep against him.

  **I0I**

_Faith_

            She liked to know where she was whenever she woke up. Whether it was her bed, someone else’s bed, a dungeon, or a hotel, or even after torture. She liked to know. And of all the places she could have woken up after that dream of tall, blond, and handsome holding her, and saying her words, a hospital was the last place she wanted to be.

            “Ah, you’re awake.” At least there was a semi-friendly face to greet her.

            “Barely, G, barely,” she muttered. She pushed herself up off the bed and took stock of everything.

            Someone put a hospital gown on her, and cleaned her up pretty damn well, though a quick check told her they hadn’t gotten her underwear.  “How long have I been out?”

            “Only a few hours,” Giles said as he took a step closer. He reached up to remove his glasses. “We…we were quite worried about you.” He cleaned them with a cloth that appeared from somewhere.

            “Damn thing got a jump on me.” Faith wanted to cross her arms, but her super-Slayer healing could only do so much for fatigue.

            “Yes, well, I called in a favor with a friend,” Giles said. “It seems to have worked out quite nicely, though I did not think he would call in SHIELD.”

            “Huh?” She leaned around him, thinking she caught a glimpse of tall, blond, and handsome who said her words, but, nope. 

            “SHIELD is an espionage agency primarily associated with the United States government, though they operate globally,” Giles said, slipping his glasses back on.

            “Technically, this was off hours.” Giles turned around, letting her glimpse the man who got her out of that jam. A man carrying a tray of coffee. “Steve Rogers.” He removed one of the coffees from the tray and offered it to Giles.

            She knew who he was, read the stories, or really the diary of the slayer from the forties. Goddamn Captain America. They dethawed him a few years ago, and he was too good for her. Literally too _good_. How did she get his words when her soul is so dark?

            “Well, I need to call the others, let them know you’re okay,” Giles said. He nodded in her direction before leaving.

            Faith let out a sigh. “There’s no one else. He’s just making excuses to let us talk.” Buffy and the other wouldn’t care at this point if she lived or died, so no sense in lying about that.

            “He was on the phone when I left, updating someone on your progress,” Steve said as he sat next to her bed. “Besides, we do need to talk.” Up close he was even more perfect. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

            “Look, soulmarks don’t always work,” she said, jumping right into the thick of it. “It won’t…I’m not…it’s just not going to work.”

            “First, don’t you want to see your words?” Steve asked, giving her a little grin. He held out a cup of coffee too.

            “You’re too fuckin’ perfect,” she said, taking it. She took a sip, trying to not watch another person walk away. 

            “I doubt that,” Steve said. He placed his cup on the table by her bed before reaching down and pulling up his shirt. Bandages wrapped around his waist obscured it from view. “It’ll heal in a day or two.”

            “How did that….no, wait, I know – I did that to you.” She held onto the cup, telling herself not to reach out and make sure he was real. “See, I’m no good for you. For anyone.”

            “I’ll be the judge of that.” Steve pushed down some of the bandages. There on his skin was her handwriting, some bad combination of chicken scratch and cursive the nuns tried to beat into her. “I was wondering what would lead me to someone saying it to me. Wasn’t there when I fell into the ice, and was one of the first things I noticed when I woke up.”

            “I’d show you mine, but’s kind of…” She waved at the gown. Even with it on, she felt too vulnerable. No one ever said those words to her. Not Diane, not Giles, not Buffy, or even Robin. Certainly not her mother. She went so long waiting for them, she thought they’d never come, and now that someone had said them to her… No one touched it either, not if they didn’t want a broken hand (except Robin and she moved his hand off it when he tried).

            The words were etched on her ribs too, right before her left boob. Hidden enough she could wear what she liked and get away with it, but she saw them every time she looked in the mirror. They were words no one would ever say to her, and she had long given up hearing them.

            “There’ll be time.” She shuffled a bit, trying to avoid that smile of his. “Now, I’ve got only one question for you.”

            “Really? Cause the number is three.” She glared at him, daring him to say something.

            “Forty two, or at least confirmed,” Steve said, giving her a smaller, harder grin. He didn’t look away or hide or trying say she would be alright. He just was there with her in the dark. “I’ve come to terms with it, but that wasn’t the question.”

            “What’s the question then? I get it wrong, you cut and run?” She leaned forward, giving him a nice glimpse down her gown and everything not covered underneath. His eyes dropped for a second, and his smile grew wider, but he didn’t blush or stammer or anything except move a little bit closer to her.

            “No, but it certainly would make things harder. So be honest: Mets or Yankees?”

            Faith stared at him, and then she felt something bubble inside of her. She didn’t believe in the soulmarks or that perfect one or anything other romantic bullshit. She didn’t even believe in herself, but she wanted this.  More than being the Slayer, she wanted this and she wanted it with him.

            “Red Sox.”

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing except maybe the plot. I did crib the idea from ozhawk, so go check out that epic series of one-shots.


End file.
